


Petal-Veined and Tender

by SingOGoddess



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Achilles!Jaehyun, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - The Iliad, How PRETTY Jaehyun is, I have no idea where I'm going with this, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M, Patroclus!Johnny, This is just my excuse, To talk about, honestly, please bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21459091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingOGoddess/pseuds/SingOGoddess
Summary: Yoonoh walks like he's a godHe is.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Petal-Veined and Tender

Icarus was a child when he fell.

The legends will say as much. 

But did they tell you he was smiling? 

Brilliant and beautiful, his head thrown back in laughter, careless and free, Icarus had grinned as the hot wax had fused his skin and bones into ashes, burning through his mortal flesh, the pain searing, yet muted, as he blinked, wide-eyed into the Sun God’s eyes, his holy eyes golden and burning, head tilted almost curiously as he watched the glinting mortal fall.  _ Finally _ .

His father had screamed, shattered, agonized, and piercing, as he watched his beloved son fall.

Icarus had been  _ delighted _ . 

He had wished for nothing more, nothing less, only of the euphoria of his god’s scorching touch, the image of his golden hair, golden skin, and golden hands, branded into his bright eyes, one godly, slim finger slowly reaching out to him, almost as if he had wished to catch the peculiar mortal, and Icarus, wildly, reached back, lithe fingers grasping only thin oxygen, still falling, falling, falling. His bright, lovely grin had frozen onto his soft cheeks, still plump with boyhood, his broken body crumpling, as his blistered,  _ fragile _ , corpse hit the dark waves, the blue mounds curling almost softly around the child’s body, as Poseidon embraced the brilliant boy, knowing if he left the boy to sink into the cold abyss, Athena and Apollo’s lament would reach no bounds. 

It was a rare blessing, to be adored by two Gods, Poseidon knew this all too well. He made sure to handle the corpse with care as he cradled the boy, beloved by Gods, yet indifferent by the Fates, with their wrinkled and scaly hands, curled into claws as they snipped his thread of life without a sparing thought. Poseidon gazed up at the sun, Icarus’s body small and delicate in his clasped hands, and Apollo nodded his head once, golden hair flowing with the movement, and with a singular, divine touch, the boy’s body was healed, bones and skin knitting back together easily, burns gently soothed away with each salty wave Poseidon bathed him in, to be reborn. To be born anew, alive and breathing, only with ichor running gold through his veins.

Apollo could not love the boy, not as the child had wished. But still, when the child had laughed for the first time, alone in his cradle, bubbling and clear, he had ghosted his lips against the newborn babe’s golden hair, the now-blessed infant in the cradle babbling and cooing softly, as the god provided what protection he could, against the world, the future, and the Fates, as Icarus’s small, chubby hands reached curiously and unknowingly for his God. 

When the time came, the God of the Sun had almost missed the tragic fate of his devoted follower. Time does not work the same for those with ichor running through their veins. As far as the shining God had known, Apollo had just blessed the child, only a moment after the Goddess of War had given hers, before Icarus had started falling. 

_ How foolish _ , thought Apollo, leaning forward as he gazed through the heavenly clouds, cupping his cheek with his own divine hand, watching with a small frown that marred his goldy visage, as his most passionate lover fell towards the unforgiving sea. 

_ How glorious _ , thought Icarus, his bones warming from the fire dancing on his skin, as his breath was stolen, ripped from his bleeding lungs, by the stunning, divine being above him, the one who could do nothing, who would do nothing, as he watched Icarus fall towards his death, with something almost akin to pity in his eyes. Almost. 

The boy would soon be his, by his side on Olympus, so why should he mourn? Gods did not mourn, and neither would Apollo. Athena would rage, but Icarus had chosen him, and only him. He died for Apollo, willingly, carelessly, _wildly_, so he would be Apollo’s, until the end of time. 

Icarus was foolish. He had loved Apollo recklessly, and did not understand his fate. Now, it extended far beyond death. 

The divine cannot Love. They can only pretend.

But at least he died happy.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I love reading feedback, and I desperately need advice and constructive criticism! Thank you for reading!


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